hitnmiss4fn

Search This Blog

Poesie, but not a word…

on May 24, 2024

Get link
Facebook
X
Pinterest
Email
Other Apps

Get link
Facebook
X
Pinterest
Email
Other Apps

Comments

Life but a Vapour.

Psalm 39:4LORD, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is: that I may know how frail I am.5Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth; and mine age is as nothing before thee: verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity. Selah. There is that word "vanity". The marginal reference here suggests that it means "vapour". In Ecclesiastes in various places the original word translated "futility". My English dictionary tells me that behind the word futility was the concept of something "leaky".Not a very good summation for the efforts of humankind. We see so many struggle to get their mark in the concrete; to strive fearfully for some impact in their waning moon; to ensure that their name will remain on the lips of others. Elsewhere in Isaiah 40, I see a similar message: 6The voice said, Cry. And he said, What shall I cry? All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field: 7The gras...

Drifter. Bad memories in this second visit. Town in trouble.

Drifter with an Attitude They gave him A fine saddle Boots and fancy belt. No charge, said the Sheriff. This Drifter had the run of the Town. Whatever his desire. Town nestled by A clear blue Lake. Water just like gold In these parts. But harassed by bandits Already robbed the coffers. Of their mining company. Would do it again. Unless Drifter intervened Organized some resistance With guts, strategy And guns. Appointed Town Dwarf As new sheriff. Good as any. Might they drop their cowardice? Aim straight and true. What could the Drifter do. Once before they Had bull-whipped Drifter. Townsfolk offered no help. He had a long memory. Women watched him With hope and desire. Sheriff’s job done right. Day or night. (*poem is based on my favourite Western, High Plains Drifter with Clint Eastwood.) https://youtu.be/Ek9CwmjisLE?si=WNIKUkBElB2U3fYu

Tigers at Silverdome.

Dad had season’s tickets At his sports store To share with friends And customers. Good spot in the stands. Familiar fans on either side. Their second home. Beer and franks. Scuse me, scuse me. Pass over the cash. Only mustard or the works? And how they could heckle the umps! Non stop and LOUD. WHAT’s with your head. Open both eyes willya. Not a strike at all You fuddydud. All considerations of colour Were of no importance to US fans. Once inside they were all family. With eyes open for the thrills Of the day Dad and I were not so smooth. Through friends he had heard Of muggings, even murder Out on the asphalt lot. And beware of those ticket scalpers. Stick close to me Doug OK.

Powered by Blogger

Poesie, but not a word…

Comments

Post a Comment